


Never Again

by Trees_Are_The_Answer



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29897355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trees_Are_The_Answer/pseuds/Trees_Are_The_Answer
Summary: Jason is missing.  The Bats haven't found him, and Marinette loses her patience.
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Jason Todd
Comments: 2
Kudos: 112





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> Look, this pairing is my favorite, I won't apologize.
> 
> Also it's 3:30am again, and apparently that means it's time to write! (why brain, why???)

Taking the knife had been a joke. She’d wondered how long it would take him to notice it was missing, since he so often relied on the plethora of other weapons at his disposal. He had yet to ask her anything about the knife. She could imagine he’d keep it’s disappearance a secret from his brothers, out of embarrassment or pride or…well, who could know but him? Ever since he’d come to her rescue using just this one, seemingly inconsequential knife, it had become her favorite. In the last year, she’d demanded he teach her how to use a knife in self-defense, and even though she couldn’t imagine outright attacking someone, she was glad she’d asked.

Of course, Marinette could now imagine differently, given the night’s turn of events. It was almost laughably similar to their first meeting; that is, if she wasn’t wound so tightly with fear for him. Her fight or flight response had long ago shifted to the fight side of things, and she had no illusions of running away when it came to Jason. He’d never left her behind, and she wasn’t about to abandon him. He’d never be abandoned again.

She kicked his bike into gear—that should have been their first clue, those idiots, the bike was still here—feeling dwarfed by it as she always did. But he’d taught her how to drive and she was strong enough to maneuver it through the streets with…little struggle. And if she wrecked it, Bruce could afford to fix or replace it. It wasn’t like he didn’t owe his second son so much more than that. She drove with single-minded focus, weaving through traffic like Jay always did, following the transmission from the panic button he’d pushed. They’d all responded, but she hadn’t heard anything from anyone in five minutes, and she was not about to sit around waiting. She was more capable than any of them gave her credit for. Except Jay. He always wanted her safe, insisted she didn’t have to fight with them. And mostly she didn’t. But she was able to, and she would now. She’d burn the entire godforsaken city down if she had to.

She parked the bike in a shadowed alleyway across from the warehouse on the docks and tried to infuse as much Red Hood Swagger as she could into her gait as she approached the warehouse. The knife hidden up her sleeve certainly added to her confidence. She avoided the obvious entrances, avoided the eyes and guns of the guards posted there—the Bats and Birds hadn’t made it here yet—and opted for a stealthier entrance through a window. The grunts outside weren’t worth the violence boiling in her veins. Sliding through the narrow opening into the warehouse was nearly effortless, her approach to the surprisingly bright back room nearly silent. Damian would be so proud.

Joker hadn’t stationed enough guards inside the warehouse. It was almost nothing to take them out as she prowled toward the doorway. She tried not to register the way the shadows moved on the wall. The madman was either entirely too certain no-one knew where he was, or was absolutely expecting someone to come for Jason. Marinette was banking on shocking him with the sole rescuer being herself. People always underestimated the tiny Eurasian woman. (Except for Jason. He was the exception to most of her experiences and rules.)

She took off at a dead sprint when she saw the clear silhouette of a gun aimed at the slumped figure tied to a chair. The sound of her approach alerted the gunman, and she dropped to her knees as she made it into the room, leaning back so that her hair brushed the floor and she slid across the floor under a barrage of bullets. Keeping her momentum, she launched up, pulling a gun from the nearest henchman’s holster and firing rounds into unfriendly kneecaps. Joker’s included. When Marinette landed, most of the guns that had been trained on her or Jason were on the floor and Jason was still slumped forward in the chair. But he was breathing. Her only issue now was the Joker.

Hadn’t once been enough for the madman? Jason had died at his hands as a child. Marinette saw red when she took in all that had been done to the man she loved. She knew it could have been so much worse, he’d clearly fought back before they’d managed to subdue him this way. But the blood trickling from somewhere in his hair, the darkening blue-black bruise staining his cheek, and the swollen-shut eye were enough to send her into a rage. But it was the terror in his good eye, in his voice as he rasped her name that pushed her past being rational.

“Marinette, no! Get out!”

That was all it took to send her hurtling through the air before the Joker could recover from his initial surprise at being shot and shoot back. She landed and stopped retaining what happened after that. But Joker’s gun was flying across the room and she registered pain and struggle and then she was scrambling to her feet—when had she fallen?—and standing between her love and the man bent on killing him.

_Never again._

Glass was shattering elsewhere in the warehouse, accompanied by machine gun fire. She didn’t care. The Joker was crawling for his discarded weapon. She could hear pounding footfalls running for them, garbled shouting. The stolen knife fell into her hand. The gun lifted, pointed around her at Jason. And then the knife was flying through the air and the gun was clattering to the floor as her chest heaved.

 _ Never _ _again._

There would be no recovery from this. No amount of CPR could resuscitate the clown. He would never hurt her love again. He’d never hurt _anyone_ again. When he stopped twitching, she stalked toward him and yanked the blade from his neck, not really taking in the gruesome sight. Still mute, she stalked to Jason and cupped the good side of his face in one hand, letting him lean into her touch before the rounded the chair and cut him free.

“Mari,” he breathed. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome,” she returned with a snort, coming around to crouch in front of him.

The huff of breath she got in response was probably meant to be a laugh. It tore at her to see him like this. But she could break down later. He needed her. She gripped him under one arm to help him stand and slung one of his arms over her shoulders.

“Gonna crush ya, Pix,” he protested weakly.

She’d never admit it. She just gently tugged him forward, ignoring that he was probably twice her weight. There was still enough adrenaline surging through her system that she could support him. Nightwing met them as they crossed the threshold into the chaos of shards of glass and groaning henchmen.

“I’ve got him, Mari,” he murmured.

She wanted to argue, but she wasn’t one to look a gift-horse in the mouth. There was no way she’d be able to get him back to Alfred on the bike anyway. Reluctantly, she traded places with NIghtwing and twined her fingers with Jason’s free hand as they made their way to the Batmobile. She helped guide him into the back, and was surprised when Dick ushered her in as well.

“It’ll drive you back to the Cave on its own,” he assured her when she questioned his refusal to get in the driver’s seat. “There’s a mess to clean up here.” He paused, swallowing before he spoke again.

“Thank you, Marinette. For my brother. For doing what we couldn’t. We never would have asked this of you.”

“Maybe you should have. Oh, Jay’s bike is across the street. Here’s the key.” She glared up at him as she set the key in his palm, and he nodded before turning away to join the rest of the Bats and Birds, running a hand through his dark hair.

The Batmobile rumbled to life, and Marinette wrapped an arm around Jason’s waist, giving him a light squeeze. Alone with him as the car sped through Gotham’s near-deserted streets, she let her tears flow, raged against everything that kept coming at them from all sides. She was sure she’d never hear the end of Bruce’s lectures about killing the Joker. But honestly, they’d just been caught on an Ixion’s Wheel, constantly cycling between his escapes from Arkham, his terrorizing the city, and his return to Arkham. Something had to give. And she was the catalyst.

“Pixie?” the baritone voice was rough and uncertain. She turned to meet his gaze and started crying in earnest.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I’m so sorry we weren’t faster. I’m sorry I waited so long, I should have left with them.”

“Mari, you’re ridiculous,” he crooked a smile at her, and her heart managed it’s usual tumble at the sight. “You were the first one to find me. You got me out. Thank you.”

There was silence between them then, simply because she didn’t know how to respond and she was reasonably certain Jason was either in too much pain or was too tired to keep speaking. That is, until they arrived at the entrance to the Bat Cave.

“What happened to him, Pix? Is he alive?”

She wasn’t sure she could answer. That vermilion rage was back, tightening her chest and her fists, making speech next to impossible. But she powered through.

“He’ll never touch you again, Jay. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. He’s dead. I killed him myself.”

The large body beside her flinched, whether at her words or her tone she wasn’t sure. In any case, she squeezed him again before opening the door and climbing out. Alfred was there to meet her, to help Jason from the back seat and onto a hospital bed.

“Mari?”

The panicked vulnerability in his voice as she disappeared from his side might have been worse than his terror for her in the warehouse. At Alfred’s nod, she threaded their fingers together once more and ran the fingers of her free hand gently through his bangs—she was fairly certain there was nothing painful there.

“I’m here, Jay. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

“I love you, Marinette.”


End file.
